


Lord Archon

by Scrunchles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Archon Dorian Pavus, BDSM, IB is still in the Qun so he goes by Hissrad, M/M, POV The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Prisoner The Iron Bull, The Iron Bull Wants the D, Top The Iron Bull (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles
Summary: A Benhasrath operative captured in Tevinter, sent to die by the Qun he serves... well, if this is the end, Hissrad might as well have a little fun with the Archon.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 105





	Lord Archon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The True Face of Power (Fanart)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/551407) by Vixiak. 



> This was written for the Adoribull Reverse Bang 2019! It was a lot of fun :)

Hissrad allows himself to be dragged through the entrance of the castle and the doors of the Tevinter palace’s grand hall. One guard is before him with a chain affixed to the collar around his neck and two flank him with weapons. He can likely kill all three, but not before sustaining a fatal blow and bleeding all over the rich, ancient Tevinter stone beneath him. Maybe that would be best. He’s no longer any use to the Qun, he’s too run down and fucked in the head to serve.

As they enter the grand hall, the hard stone is softened by a plush red carpet and his footsteps stop echoing so loudly

“My Lord Archon!” one of the guards shouts. Hissrad stops walking ten meters short of the throne and the man yanks at him, muttering about him being an animal. 

“Yes, what is it?” asks the man on the luxurious golden throne that is center of the room. He looks distracted and his fingers busily brush against an angular lump in his cloak. He looks utterly bored as he slumps to the side, making the gilded dragons and tapestries even more ostentatious when taking in his poor posture and lack of attention. 

_Dorian Pavus_. New to the whole Archon thing and bringing some naive ideals to the throne while he’s at it. According to Hissrad’s information, anyway. He wants to trade with other nations and has issued orders to those fighting on Qun land to engage humanely with prisoners.

There’s no such thing as empathy in a war.

“We have caught a Qunari spy!” the guard on his left says proudly. Hissrad is not built for stealth. It’s laughable that the guards who shove him forward are so proud of catching him.

Dorian raises a perfect brow and sits up with just as much interest as he had before Hissrad’s entrance. “Are you sure he’s a spy?” Dorian asks. “He’s a bit… conspicuous.”

“He was in the archives,” the guard on Hissrad’s right insists. “He was sending a raven as we intercepted him.”

“Very well, I suppose we should… what? Torture him to find out what they know? Put him in a cell and throw away the key?” Dorian says, continuing to look nonplussed by the whole situation.

That’s what he expects. He’s prepared to die; prepared to be tortured and allowed a slow, agonizing demise as he seals his loyalty to the Qun by not telling a word. Slow and torturous, taken apart by the wicked magics the Vints possess and then cut down by them.

“My Lord Archon, if I may be so bold…” a spindly, hunched older man emerges from the shadows and the look he gives Hissrad turns his stomach. Whatever Hissrad expected of being caught, that Vint has something worse in store for him. Hissrad’s only comfort is that Dorian’s expression goes from disinterested to annoyed in a second. “I would like to take custody of this beast. He is a wonderful specimen, the largest I have ever seen—“

“Take him to my room,” Dorian says suddenly, firmly.

“My Lord—“ the man attempts to interject.

Dorian flicks his hand at the man and he goes silent as if by magic, though Hissrad doesn’t see a spell. The guards are already removing Hissrad from the hall, moving to a large door set in the north wall. Figuring he should resist a bit more, Hissrad shoulders one of the guards into a column with a sickening crack and then feels the butt of a spear slam against the back of his head. He sees stars and then everything goes black.

——

Hissrad wakes up in chains, wearing nothing but his eyepatch and soft, silky pants that feel like they will fall apart if he so much as farts. His skin feels fresh and clean and he smells like something warm and sweet. It’s an affront and Hissrad groans about it in Qunlat as he sits up.

He’s alone in a plush bedchamber that is gilded in black lacquer and golds. Snakes feature prominently in the decor and embroidery. Hissrad stands and tests the chains that bind him to the wall. He has enough freedom to reach the bed and the chamber pot but that’s it. Out of habit, he strains toward a writing desk with so many tempting papers strewn about it, but he can’t make out the spidery writing this far away. Thin, quick lines full of self-assurance are on many of the documents. He makes note of this and then moves to the bed, his hip and knee killing him from waking up on the floor.

There’s only one reason a prisoner would be brought to a bedchamber. He will be used and then tortured or discarded—maybe the Vint will get creative and try to make him a pet, attempt to gain his trust for access to Qunari secrets. Okay, several reasons, but they all have one thing in common. Sex is a way that humans exert power over each other and Hissrad is almost eager for it by this point. At least it will distract him from his failure to the Qun.

He smiles wryly as he reclines on the bed with his hands over his head to ease the strain of his shoulders. Whatever the Vint’s plans for him are, at least he’ll go out with a bang.

“Will you be disposing of me after you’re done, or keeping me around like a prize?” Hissrad asks as the door opens. He turns his head to look at the man with his one gray eye and tries to look easy.

Dorian’s steps halt halfway through the door and then clears his throat. “You’re dismissed,” he says. Two sets of heavier boots depart from the other side of the door and the Archon walks through before shutting it behind him. “Which would you prefer?” he asks.

Hissrad considers the question, then shrugs. “Both have their pros and cons,” he admits, turning his head to look back up at the ceiling, though his every instinct screams at him to keep the other man in his sight.

“Hm… were you sent here to kill me?” Dorian asks, his eyes roving over every inch of Hissrad. He can _feel it_.

“That would not further either of our goals,” Hissrad replies, his body preening at the attention. He hasn’t seen a Tamassran or one of his own team in months and he has no shortage of pride in himself. He’s a massive, well-muscled snack.

“You presume to know my goals?” Dorian carefully steps forward, finally coming back into Hissrad’s view. He looks wary but unafraid of the Qunari lounging comfortably across his bed.

“They are what I am here to find out,” Hissrad tells him, his eye flicking across the man to take in details.

His face has nearly perfect symmetry aside from the beauty mark high on his left cheekbone. His hair and facial hair—a moustache and a small patch of beard— are painstakingly maintained. His eyes are gray and contrast pleasantly with his caramel-colored skin and dark hair. Hissrad isn’t picky about who fucks him, and he certainly doesn’t mind if this man does so.

“If I were here to kill you, you would be dead,” he tells Dorian before turning over onto his belly and supporting himself on his elbows as he looks up at the Archon. He can feel the thin fabric of the pants settling between his cheeks and against his sack. “Well? Don’t you want to be the Archon who dominated the big, scary Qunari prisoner?” he asks. 

He wants to feel anything other than the emptiness of failure.

Dorian’s entire face slides into a strange, bemused expression that doesn’t seem natural. He laughs softly as color creeps up from his high collar and he steps forward. “You think that is why I had you brought here?” He asks, his voice holding a hollowness to it.

“I think that you’ve thought about it,” Hissrad says, looking down at Dorian’s trousers for any tells besides the way his tongue wets his lips and his rate of breath increases ever so slightly. “I also think that you are trying to hide your desires behind a mask that works well enough for high society Vints, but I can see the eagerness in your breaths. The heat hovering just below your jaw…” Hissrad spreads his legs and pushes up off of his elbows so that he and Dorian are face to face. “Don’t you want to tame the beast?” he asks.

Dorian locks the door with a twist of his hand in thin air. Fear sparks in Hissrad. He’s terrified but not in the way he assumes facing a dragon would terrify him—or how being captured should terrify him. Magic is taboo, the worst violation of the natural order of life. 

Fear breeds eagerness—it’s in his training. He allows it to slide into arousal almost like a habit. It’s a technique to keep from flinching away from something dangerous. Hesitation can get a warrior killed on the battlefield, but arousal allows him to lean in, to harness and grasp at whatever he’s afraid of, dominate it. He shifts against the bed, hoping to aid his conversion of fear with stimulation.

“I have thought about it,” Dorian admits as he loosens the complicated ties of his thick over-robes with skilled, clever fingers. “But I had you brought here for another reason,” he says.

Hissrad huffs and drops back to his elbows as he watches Dorian walk over to the window and pull the curtains. Once they’re closed, Dorian says some more magic and every hair on Hissrad’s body stands up when runes light up on the floor, starting at Dorian’s feet and snaking through the room until the floor, ceiling and walls are covered, giving the dimly lit room an eerie purple glow. “The less magic involved, the more I comply,” he says warily.

“It can’t be helped if we don’t want to be overheard,” Dorian says. “I want to negotiate peace with the Qunari, and there are many in Tevinter and without who would rather kill me than allow that.”

Hissrad shifts to sit up and eases his stiff leg around so that it can hang off the end of the side of the bed without touching the glowing floor.

“Are you injured?” Dorian asks.

Hissrad shakes his head as he folds his other leg underneath him. “Old wound,” he says. “Doesn't like being on the floor for too long.”

Dorian moves closer slowly, like he’s still not sure if he should trust the curious look Hissrad is giving him. “You’re a strange choice for a spy,” he comments.

“You’re a strange choice for a leader,” Hissrad replies. “Talking of peace and treating a prisoner like a person.”

“I am unique,” Dorian agrees, with a bit more self-awareness than Hissrad really thinks is necessary. “But I’m sure that we are not the only nation tired of sending our resources to the front of an unending war.”

“Will you remove my bonds?” Hissrad asks. 

Dorian steps forward. “Will you help me?” he asks.

“Honestly, I would rather you kill or fuck me than deal with this,” Hissrad tells him.

Dorian’s face falls into a pout and he undoes the buttons on his high collar distractedly. “And why is that?” 

Hissrad sighs. This is frustrating. He was here to do a job. He did it, got captured, now his last job is to die before the assassins are sent for him. _But_ now his captor wants him to do more work—work that will be hard and fruitless because what on earth calms centuries-long wars? “It’s never going to happen,” he says simply. “If it can, it’s not my job to know what will help.”

Dorian’s brows furrow. “What do you mean it’s not your job?”

Hissrad lifts his wrists cheekily. “I can’t help,” he says. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the information you need.”

Dorian seems to consider Hissrad’s word. “I would still like to talk about it,” he says. 

Hissrad snorts. This isn’t something he wants to deal with. “Are you still thinking about fucking me?” 

Dorian looks like he’s considering it and then he moves his hand and the lights go out. He opens the curtains again and fixes the collar of his vest before draping his robes over his arm. “I still have a country to run,” he says. “If you help me with my war problem, well… we might find an arrangement.”

Hissrad groans and jerks at the manacles as soon as Dorian is out of the room. His muscles strain and he snarls, but the chains and their pitons hold out.

_Fuck_.

He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, wills himself and his cock to settle the fuck down. After a good half hour of meditation and breathing techniques, Hissrad stands and takes stilted steps over to the desk to look more closely at the papers. They’re a collection of notes and stories, letters to a friend named Felix and Tevinter parables about snakes using their cunning to usurp their foes.

Nothing useful or interesting in their content, possibly a red herring just to pique his interest. Hissrad looks carefully at the penmanship, taking in what he can learn about the Archon from it. He’s vain, driven and precise. He’s right-handed and he ends most of his lines with a flourishing flick of his wrist.

There are books in the room as well. They’re all about magic until Hissrad finds one covering the history of the place. He sits in the chair and massages his knee as he reads the introduction.

All he finds is fundamental nationalist bullshit that glorifies Tevinter in every way. From the slave trade being a higher calling for its victims-- though they are referred to as _contributors_ in the text-- to mages carrying a heavy burden to lead their people to a greater purpose. Hissrad isn’t sure if he should be entertained or violently ill. If _this_ is what Dorian believes, there’s no hope for peace with the Qun. 

Hissrad stops reading once the sun falls. There are no flints in the room, nothing to light the many, many candles set into the ornate sconces. Hissrad lies on his back with his arms above his head and stares at the dim light glinting off of jewels set in the candelabra above him. He wonders how it gets lit. 

He falls into a light sleep, resigned to the fact that he’s unlikely to die tonight.

The door opens and so do Hissrad’s eyes. He hears Dorian sigh and there’s a tired hesitation in the clipped tap of his metal-trimmed boots. 

Heavy, thick cloth moves through the air in deft movements and then the room alights by magic. The chandelier is gorgeous when it’s lit, but knowing that the lighting of the just-too-ruddy flames were conjured by magic leaves a foul taste in Hissrad’s mouth. Hissrad pulls at the bonds on his wrists without thinking. “Habit,” Dorian says as though he thinks it’s an apology. Hissrad shifts to sit up with a groan and his right knee deigns to bend properly so that he doesn’t have to awkwardly keep it straight.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Dorian says, pouring a drink at one of the cabinets. It’s something stronger than wine but nothing Hissrad has had in a human bar. “Would you like a glass?” Dorian asks, raising his own to take a gulp that leaves him shivering.

“I think you could use it more than me,” Hissrad points out.

“Yes, well… I could use several things at the moment but this will have to do,” Dorian replies.

Hissrad hums and watches his captor. “Will you release my cuffs?” he asks.

Dorian knocks back the rest of the glass and pours two before moving to join Hissrad. “I will in time,” he promises, handing Hissrad one of the glasses.

Hissrad brings it to his lips and tilts it back. It stings his nose and brings tears to his eyes that only his training keeps at bay. He finishes it all in one and then hands the glass back. 

“You took that rather remarkably,” Dorian comments as he shifts to sit against the headboard and sip his own.

“Something I hope to say to you soon,” Hissrad returns with a smirk. The alcohol is just what he needed to feel a little bit of normal emotionally.

Dorian laughs dryly, but he also flushes a bit, the warm undertones of his tan skin becoming more apparent at his jaw and his neck—exposed again from his unbuttoned vest. Hissrad wonders what it will look like against the pink of his tongue. “Ah… what?” Dorian asks as the warmth creeps up to his ears. 

“I was serious earlier,” Hissrad says. “I came in here expecting to be a sex slave and you’re honestly letting me down.”

Dorian laughs and Hissrad waits for him to finish—it takes a while. Hissrad rolls his eyes and huffs as Dorian gets a good long laugh out of him. “Forgive me,” Dorian says once he regains composure. “That’s not the common reaction to a man with power not taking advantage of a prisoner.”

Hissrad snorts. “You can take advantage of me in that regard,” he assures him. “I’m eager to serve.”

Dorian hums and plays with his glass with both hands. “Noted, but if you are truly expecting and willing to be used in such a fashion… wouldn’t it benefit me more to withhold such duties?” he points out.

Hissrad pouts and Dorian’s lips, upturned in a clever little simper spread into an insuppressible smile. 

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Dorian tells him with a soft laugh. “I’d like to, of course, you are a…” he motions to Hissrad and looks like he’s struggling to find the words for exactly what he is.

“Handsome, impressive, majestic, _robust_? You humans have so many words for what I am, I’m surprised you’re having so much trouble finding them, Lord Archon,” Hissrad teases.

“ _Dorian_ ,” the other man says with a bitter edge on the name.

“Dorian,” Hissrad says, his voice soft. “If that’s what you want me to call you, I will.”

Dorian takes a deep breath and stands to refill his glass. “That was harsh of me,” he says as he sets the liquor bottle back down and rests his hands on the cabinet, likely grounding himself from his outburst. “I’m just so tired of being called _Lord Archon_.”

“It sounds like you could use a long hard talk rather than a long hard fuck,” Hissrad points out. He walks over to set his empty glass on the desk and then moves to sit on the edge of the bed and wait.

Dorian glances at Hissrad and raises a brow. “Yes, talking to a spy about how much I hate my job and want to kill half of my peers sounds like an excellent idea.”

Hissrad shrugs. “Either talk to me, fuck me or kill me,” he says. “Your whole ‘woe is me, I’m a world leader’ schtick is kind of sad.”

Dorian’s mouth drops open and he huffs indignantly. “Fuck off. It’s very hard to enter a position with good intentions and then have all of them dashed against the sharp rocks of reality.”

Hissrad hums and shrugs. “Is it?” he asks, realizing that getting Dorian to open up just means getting him worked up.

“It is!” he insists. “I have millions of people counting on me to make high-level decisions that will benefit or destroy their livelihoods and some of the repercussions I will never know about because I’m stuck here listening to people who I don’t care about talk about parties and who’s who and I used to give at least one shit but now I’d just as soon burn the whole place down.”

Hissrad raises his hands and spreads them out as much as he can. “See? Not so hard to talk to a Qunari spy about your dreams of anarchy.”

Dorian sighs heavily and rubs his face with both hands. “Fuck, I’m a mess.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So am I,” he admits.

Dorian raises a brow. “You got caught, but other than that, you seem quite capable.”

Hissrad tilts his head from side to side and shrugs. “I’m a little fucked in the head,” he admits. “I don’t think the way they want me to. I think I was sent here to die, so…”

Dorian lets out a low Vint curse and Hissrad nods.

Dorian picks up his glass and moves back toward the bed, a bit sluggish, if only because his steps have a softer gait than before. He sits next to Hissrad and rests his hand over the manacles. “If you don’t kill me, I won’t kill you,” he promises.

“If I fuck you will you fuck me?” Hissrad asks with only half the cheek of before. Being vulnerable fucking sucks.

“Sure,” Dorian says, then murmurs a phrase and the cuffs click and fall to the floor. 

Hissrad clenches his fists in agitation at magic being used so _casually_ and at such _close proximity_ to him, but then unclenches them and repeats the motion several times when he feels Dorian tense beside him. Better he thinks it’s just an attempt at recirculating blood flow. Dorian stands suddenly and walks to the center of the room.

“You okay?” Hissrad asks.

“Yes,” Dorian assures him. “I just need to cloak us in silence,” he says before the glowing runes from before spread from his feet and twine up the walls to the ceiling. The candle lights warm the room and take away the coolness of the strange glow, but it all still makes Hissrad’s skin crawl. “If there are ears outside, I would prefer they not hear my requests of you… and how willing you are to comply.”

“If you need to punch me a few times to sell it, I can be into that,” Hissrad says wryly.

“I can’t tell if you’re serious or not,” Dorian comments as he loosens the ties of his vest and the robes underneath further. He doesn’t let them fall to the floor. Instead, he hangs them on a stand that appears to be specifically made in his form. 

And he _has_ a form beneath the robes. Hissrad shifts on the bed with a surprised growl in the back of his throat. Dorian is gorgeous. He’s smooth lines and the same shade of bronze everywhere. There’s a hint of tendon and vein in the places it’s very attractive—his arms and lightly in his neck and shoulders. Hissrad can’t believe he overlooked the robe stand for a statue of some sort, he could have been staring at Dorian’s gorgeous physique all day and likely made better use of his evening than reading Tevinter wank off to itself.

“If this is how the night is going to go, I would prefer for you to fuck me,” Dorian says as he approaches the bed. He hesitates an arm’s length away, looking up at Hissrad with uncertainty peeking through his facade.

“You’re safe,” Hissrad promises. “I’m not the assassin kind of spy.” Just because his name means liar doesn’t mean he can’t be trusted. For this, anyway.

Dorian laughs softly. “Of course,” he says flippantly, but Hissrad can hear the waver in it. “Why kill me when you could eat me?”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Hissrad admits. There is something still worth living for. If he’s not good enough for the Qun anymore, he can channel his efforts into fucking Dorian. “Your ass probably tastes great.” When Dorian makes it to Hissrad’s knees, his eyes trace over the Qunari’s massive torso before settling between his legs. “Want a closer look?” Hissrad asks, reaching for the tie on the pants as Dorian’s eyes draw back up to lock with his own. He pulls— and then pulls again—and then pulls again. “How the fuck do you undo this?” he asks, breaking their smoulder in order to try and figure out his pants situation.

Dorian chuckles softly and the antics seem to relax him as he brushes Hissrad’s hands out of the way so that his clever fingers can pick the fastening apart. Hissrad shifts to recline back for the first time today and it’s nearly as satisfying as sliding his cock into Dorian is going to be. Dorian pulls the pants forward and as Hissrad’s cock, thick and slowly gaining interest, slips free, Dorian sucks in a sharp breath. The dusky pink head peaks out of Hissrad’s foreskin and he reaches down to draw it back further. “Do I need to be a good choice for a spy with a cock like this?” Hissrad asks.

Dorian laughs at the reference to their earlier conversation and Hissrad takes one of Dorian’s hands, still fisted in the material of the pants, and moves it to his cock. “I suppose not,” he agrees, seeming to snap back to life as he wraps his hand around Hissrad and squeezes gently. “Do be gentle with me,” he says, jerking the base of Hissrad’s cock slowly. “I haven’t had the pleasure of a partner in a while.”

“As long as you want me to,” Hissrad replies.

Dorian’s hand tightens around Hissrad and he opens his own pants with one hand before pushing them until they fall down. “That window is shortening by the moment,” he assures Hissrad. Dorian’s cock, cut and framed by hair as exquisitely maintained as his moustache, is half hard. He draws his hand away from the heavy weight of Hissrad and reaches into a drawer for a vial of slick.

Dorian dips his fingers into it and then hands it to Hissrad.

“Do you have a preference for how I do this?” Hissrad asks. 

“Yes, my preference is that we stop talking about it and just do it,” Dorian replies, reaching behind himself to slide his fingers in and prepare himself for Hissrad’s cock.

Hissrad bristles at the flippant way Dorian approaches his safety and pleasure. Sex is an outlet, a natural way to reconnect with oneself and occasionally others. Baas have strange ways of approaching this connection, but Hissrad has never seen someone so out of tune with himself.

Hissrad moves up onto his knees and watches Dorian hastily and poorly stretch himself before he climbs up on the bed and lies on his back, stretching out and smiling up at Hissrad, his legs spread and his knees quivering slightly.

Hissrad sighs and hooks his hand under Dorian’s knee to bare his ass. Hissrad dips his fingers in the oil and carefully prepares Dorian properly.

“This privacy spell only lasts half an hour,” Dorian says irritably. 

Hissrad deliberately moves his fingers slower. “Then you will just have to be quiet when it goes away,” Hissrad says. 

Dorian opens his mouth to reply, his lip curling with snark until Hissrad twists his finger and presses and Dorian moans loudly instead of saying anything. “Oh…” he says between panting breaths once he’s uncrossed his eyes.

Hissrad smirks and slowly works a second finger into Dorian. “Trust me,” he says. “I’ll make you feel good without hurting you.”

Dorian closes his eyes and spreads his legs wider still. “My father always said never to trust someone who asks you to.”

“Then don’t,” Hissrad replies. 

Dorian bites his lip and arches his back as Hissrad stretches him open. By the time he’s gotten three fingers into Dorian, the lights have started to fade and Dorian is moaning and panting pleasantly, his cock is hard and leaking and he looks properly undone by Hissrad’s preparation alone.

“Ready?” Hissrad asks as he slicks his cock.

“Yes, _vashante kafas,_ yes!”

Hissrad chuckles and then presses himself against Dorian’s hole. “Remember to be quiet,” he says as he slowly presses his head in. Dorian takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. 

“Fuuuuuck meeeee,” he begs in a prolonged stage whisper.

Hissrad snorts softly and keeps Dorian’s leg up as he begins moving his hips in careful little jolts. Dorian is tense beneath him, all of the responsive and fun energy he had before has been replaced by a rigidity that makes Hissrad stop.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m staying quiet,” Dorian says stiffly.

“You’re tense,” Hissrad says. “If you need to stop and recast your spell, do so. I don’t fuck lumps of wood.”

Dorian scoffs and life seems to return to him as Hissrad pulls out and waits for him to recast his silence spell. He takes longer, and the only thing that makes Hissrad’s goosebumps and ill stomach worth it is that when Dorian strikes perfect posture for the spell while naked, he somehow looks even more perfect. Hissrad idly wonders if he uses magic to look this way. He has to have some flaw to him somewhere and Hissrad is going to look long and hard for it.

When Dorian finishes casting the spell, he sighs and he looks drained. Hissrad waits for him to sit back down before he touches him, cupping his face and examining his exhausted grimace. “What?” Dorian asks irritably. “I’ve done as you asked.”

“You’re tired,” Hissrad says before releasing him. 

“Yes, magic is work,” Dorian confirms. 

“Then lie back and let me help you relax,” Hissrad says, the temptation to kiss Dorian terribly acute when they’re this close, but that wasn’t asked for or agreed upon.

Dorian rolls his eyes and lies back. “After all the expectations and interruptions, your cock better be as skillful as your fingers,” he says.

Hissrad chuckles and pushes Dorian’s leg back up. “Trust me,” he purrs as he presses in.

Dorian opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a breathy exhale as Hissrad starts working his cock in and out of Dorian shallowly. Dorian curses in Vint and his hole clenches and relaxes around Hissrad as he fights the slow, easy pace that Hissrad has set. “Are all Qunari this painstakingly slow?”

“Yeah.” Hissrad pushes in a bit too hard at the dig and Dorian grits his teeth, hissing at the rough treatment. “Sorry,” Hissrad says, kissing Dorian’s leg and nipping at the inner ankle bone as he eases his pace again.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asks. “If your knee hurts or—“

“I’m fine,” Hissrad says, trying not to look shaken by his own slip.

Dorian hums and purses his lips.

“Just let me fuck you,” Hissrad says, rolling his hips and watching Dorian’s eyes roll back as he brushes against something good. “There it is,” he says proudly.

Dorian moans and his ankle comes down to rest firmly on Hissrad’s shoulder. It fits perfectly between his trapezius and his deltoid muscles. Hissrad slides his hand down Dorian’s leg to grip his knee as he shifts forward and adjusts his angle. Dorian mixes curses in Vint and common. His hands, still covered in rings, grasp at the sheets and he opens his mouth as Hissrad crudely abuses his prostate, giving the mage the fuck of his life, aparently. He’s filthy, slandering Hissrad’s non-existent parents and talking about all manner of biological functions and body parts that shouldn’t be mixed with them. The only time he shuts up is when Hissrad thrusts into him so hard and fast that he comes across his own belly suddenly. Hissrad keeps moving and the sticky liquid keeps oozing from Dorian like it’s all of his pent up frustrations and woes.

Honestly, he probably just needed this fuck. Hissrad knows the feeling. Hissrad slows his thrusts once Dorian’s cock ceases its outpour, then draws out and smirks down at him. “Told you,” he says.

Dorian rolls his eyes and reaches for a cloth in the same drawer he pulled the lubricant from. He wipes his belly and cock before staring down between his legs with a frown.

“What?” Hissrad asks.

“ _You_ didn’t come,” Dorian points out.

“Eh,” Hissrad shrugs and reclines back to jerk himself. “Most of my thing is in making you come,” he says.

Dorian scoffs and gets up on his knees to shuffle toward him in a most undignified manner. He bats Hissrad’s hand away and slides his leg over his belly, looking surprised that he can’t reach the bed with his knees. Hissrad smirks at the change in Dorian’s expression as he seems to realize that he’s literally just climbed atop someone twice his size and expected to be able to have a secure perch.

“You still committed to this?” Hissrad teases him, pinching his ass right where the firm swell of fat and glute meets thigh.

Dorian slaps his chest and frowns down at him. “If you were sent here to die, I’m giving you asylum,” he says. 

Hissrad raises his brows and nearly pinches Dorian again to ruin the moment because it’s a bit more real than he can handle with his cock rock hard and being mounted on a… former? enemy’s bed. He resists, though, and grabs Dorian’s ass instead. “ _Ass-_ ylum?” he says.

Dorian rolls his eyes and reaches back for his cock. “I already regret it,” he says as he lines them up and sinks down around Hissrad.

It’s Hissrad’s turn to groan. Now that he’s not distracted by attempting to give pleasure, he openly receives it and his body eagerly lurches up into Dorian’s warm, tight ass in a harsh rhythm. Dorian moans with him. Though his cock has already lost its length, it still occasionally leaks a sticky mess between them that Hissrad can’t wait to lick up later.

The thought of it sends his hips jolting into Dorian again and the man nearly loses his seat. He braces his hands on Hissrad’s stomach and stares down at him with dark eyes that make Hissrad slow down again and enjoy having such an eager and sexy person riding his cock. He feels close to how he does in battle, but more controlled. Wild with energy and purpose, strong and unafraid of whatever happens next because he knows that he’ll come out stronger for it.

“What is your name?” Dorian asks suddenly.

Hissrad grips Dorian’s hips harder and licks his lips as he thrusts up with slow, purposeful driving force. He’s a beast to the Tevinter people, an animal. 

“Call me, ‘Bull,’ ” he says.

Dorian laughs and it makes him clench around Hissrad’s cock suddenly. He comes with a few haphazard, jerking thrusts and then lies there as Dorian collapses against his chest, laughing further at Hissrad’s ruin. “I’m so sorry,” Dorian tells him as he pulls himself up Hissrad’s torso to let him slip free.

Hissrad chuckles softly. “Don’t apologize,” he tells him. “That was fun.”

“It was,” Dorian agrees with a smile before shifting to lie beside Hissrad.

The ruins faded some time ago and Hissrad rests his hand on Dorian’s thigh as they lie there together. “Think anyone heard anything?” he asks after a while of just breathing and existing together.

“If they did, I’m sure they regret it,” Dorian replies. “If you would like, there is a second bedchamber off to the side of mine,” he says, though he doesn’t move to leave the pocket of Hissrad’s shoulder.

“Do you want me to leave?” Hissrad asks.

“Only if you want to.”

Hissrad feels something in his chest, something light and sudden and sweet. “I don’t,” he says.

Dorian smiles and turns on his side to rest his head on Hissrad’s chest. “Then don’t.”

——

The water is cold but it’s clean and the soap is refreshing. Hissrad takes his time scrubbing the sweat and come from his body, feeling his anxieties fall away as he attends to the familiar task. The cold wakes him up fully and it numbs the ache in his knee from too long sustaining the repeated motion of fucking Dorian the night before.

He finds his brace by the door—where it hadn’t been the previous night, but he slept like a log and a tub full of water somehow got into the room, so someone more than likely came in the night— and puts it back on over the soft pants he hadn’t worn long the previous night. 

When Dorian awakens, he seems surprised to see Hissrad up, dressed, and likely also surprised that he is still there. He could have escaped. He has routes memorized, escapes through the palace and out to a rarely tended stretch of trees or to the caverns below that let out somewhere in the dark roads. He would rather stick around. Dorian is interesting enough, and he’s not really being put out so far by giving Dorian the best sex he’s ever had. He pointedly doesn’t consider the strange flutter he gets in his chest when he looks at the other man.

Dorian eventually joins him in the waking world. He curses when he sees the sun and flops back down with a groan. “I’m already late,” he laments.

“Better get up, then,” Hissrad points out.

Dorian gives a full bodied sigh before rolling to the side of the bed and moving to stand. He stretches and Hissrad watches greedily as muscles and sinew move beneath his flawless skin. He sucks on his teeth and huffs when Dorian touches a rune and the bath heats up until it’s steaming. 

“Wish I’d known you could do that before I took a cold bath,” Hissrad comments.

Dorian glows with self-satisfied pride. “Yes, well it wasn’t drawn for you,” he replies. 

Hissrad rolls his eyes and sprawls on Dorian’s sete by the window. He can feel eyes on him and it makes him smirk to himself that the leader of the Qun’s longest-standing enemy is fixated on him. 

He can get used to this. No wonder Tamassrans do their job, it’s addicting to take cues, to have someone react so intensely to what you do to them. Honestly, this is the best internment he’s ever had. Better than the two times he got captured in Seheron and the one time in Ferelden where he ended up joining a Carta harem for a few weeks. Well, now it’s more of a sanctuary deal according to what Dorian said last night.

“You look pensive,” Dorian says as he uses a small hand mirror to trim his beard and moustache. 

Hissrad hums. 

“Talk to me, Bull,” he demands, but his tone is friendly and Hissrad _wants_ to talk to him.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Hissrad asks. “About asylum?”

Dorian sets the small shears and mirror down on the wide edge of the tub and scrubs his face. “Yes,” he says, once he’s satisfied he doesn’t have any errant bits of trimmed hair where they don’t belong. He runs his hands through his hair, soaking in some sort of product he had rubbed in at the start. “I’m just trying to figure out the red tape of it all,” he says. “Qunari are also—“

“Tal Vashoth,” Hissrad says, a bit numbly.

“Hm?”

Hissrad clears his throat. “I am no longer a Qunari,” he explains. “I’ve turned my back on the Qun, so… I’m a Tal Vashoth.”

Dorian frowns. “I thought Qunari refers to a race of people,” he admits, looking a bit bashful about his ignorance, but only a bit.

Hissrad hums and moves to sit on the edge of the tub. He explains the difference between Qunari and Vidithari as well as Vashoth and Tal Vashoth as Dorian finishes his bath. He tries to rein in his disdain for Tal Vashoth that lingers after his dealings with them in Seheron and as Dorian asks questions and for clarification, Hissrad’s unease ebbs until he feels at peace with his choice last night. Forsaking his name, accepting asylum from Dorian…

Bull stands when Dorian finally rinses his hair and asks for a towel across the room. He gets it and hands it to him, watching him stand and dry himself without shame. “Do you use magic to look like that?” Bull asks.

Dorian raises a brow at him. “To look like what?” he asks.

“Perfect,” Hissrad replies, motioning to all of Dorian in a motion similar to the one the human had made toward him last night. 

Dorian smirks and lets the towel drop. “I do not,” he assures Bull, stepping forward and looking up at him with a simpering smile that Bull knows very well from other faces. 

“You’ll be even later,” Bull points out.

The runes spring from Dorian’s bare feet as he stands scarcely an inch from him. Bull doesn’t like that he’s getting used to that, doesn’t know what that says about him as he kneels to undo his knee brace and then pulls Dorian in to press against him with a soft rumble of desire.

Dorian kisses him this time, up on his tiptoes and dragging Bull down to fit their mouths together. Bull deepens the kiss and backs Dorian toward the chain on the wall and the cuffs, hanging by a hook in case Bull needs to be retrained, he assumes.

“Do you trust me?” Bull asks, low and heavy in the humid air between them. He remembers Dorian’s concern the night before, his stresses of being Archon to so many. If Bull is going to take on the role of Tamassran for Dorian, he has to do what’s best for him, make him realize he’s not in this position alone and his title shouldn’t bring him pain.

“Yes,” Dorian says without hesitation.

Bull reaches for the cuffs and holds them out to Dorian. “Give yourself over to me,” he says. “I’ll make you feel things you didn’t know you could.”

Dorian licks his lips and then touches the cuffs, a spark of magic opening them for his wrists to fit into. Bull clicks them shut and then kisses Dorian again, deeply. “If you start to feel uncomfortable or want to stop for any reason, tell me,” Bull says when he draws away and turns Dorian around so that the man’s bare back presses against Bull’s chest. He backs them up to the extent of the chain’s length and then nuzzles into Dorian’s neck. “Keep your arms up for as long as you can,” he tells him. “If you drop them, I will bite you.”

“Bite me?” Dorian asks, dropping his hand and stepping forward to twist his head to look at Bull.

Bull opens his mouth and closes his teeth firmly on Dorian’s shoulder, leaving a light mark and sucking on it to soothe the pain away. “Are you okay with that?” Bull asks.

Dorian sucks in a deep breath and nods.

“I would like to hear you, Dorian.”

“Yes!” Dorian nearly shouts.

Bull hums and then uses one firm hand to pull Dorian back against him and corrects his arms. “Tell me if your arms get tired,” he says. “But do not drop them.”

Dorian presses his ass back against Bull and Bull kisses his neck as he draws away from Dorian to get the slick they used the previous night. He kneels and kisses Dorian’s right ass cheek before gripping it and giving it a firm squeeze. Honestly, his ass is too perfect. Bull bites it with a soft groan before spreading his cheeks and beginning to lap at Dorian’s hole. 

Dorian curses in Vint and even consults his Maker as Bull eats him out. He’s extremely responsive, and Bull plans on devoting an entire night to this in the future, but right now, he’s— Dorian drops his arms and Bull stops tonguing his hole to bite his asscheek just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Ow!” Dorian steps forward and Bull stands, stepping forward to guide Dorian back into place and biting his neck with a low growl. 

“Stay in place, don’t drop your arms,” Bull outlines the rules again. “Say you want to stop if you can’t do that.”

“No,” Dorian says, returning to the position and rolling his shoulders with a sigh. “Sorry, I—“

“Don’t apologize, just do it,” Bull tells him, pressing a gentle kiss to Dorian’s cheek before he ducks back down again and starts opening Dorian up for his cock.

Dorian drops his arms a few more times, and each time, Bull bites him— his ass, his thigh, until Dorian admits, “I can’t hold my arms up.” Then, Bull stands and wraps one arm around Dorian to cup his cuffed wrists and support his outstretched arms while his other hand undoes the tie of his pants. 

“You can’t do something taxing alone,” Bull tells him. Once his pants fall to the floor, he guides his cock to Dorian’s ass and presses in slowly, making him take the whole thing but by bit until Bull is fully sheathed inside Dorian and both of them are panting. His arms remain straight, though. 

“You have to admit you can’t do everything,” Bull tells him, kissing Dorian’s neck and then beginning to thrust. Dorian moans loudly with each movement and Bull groans as the pleasure of being in such a hot, tense crevice intensifies each pleasurable thrust. 

“You have to ask for help and use your resources,” Bull tells him as he walks them forward until Dorian’s hands can rest against the wall. “Lean on what was here before you,” he continues, his pace quickening as Dorian relaxes and gasps with each thrust, but his moans are softer, like he’s staying quiet to listen to Bull.

“You have to oversee instead of overcome,” Bull tells Dorian, gripping at his body and quickening his pace. “Let people do their jobs, but make sure they’re the jobs you want from them...” he groans and drags Dorian down the wall until they’re both on the floor, Dorian on all fours and Bull bowed over him, one hand twisted in his hair and the other touching him, feeling his perfect body shiver and shudder beneath Bull’s cock. 

Bull licks his lips and slides his hand up to grasp Dorian’s jaw and turn his face to see him. “What are you?”

“I’m… coming…” Dorian gasps. 

“That’s fine,” Bull says soothingly. “But what are you? To your people? What is your station?”

Dorian moans as he comes on the floor but Bull doesn’t relax his thrusts or his demands. “I’m… the bloody Archon,” he admits.

“Can you run your country yourself?” Bull asks.

“No.”

“Can you fuck yourself?” Bull asks.

Dorian laughs and shakes his head. 

“Say it,” Bull demands with a grin.

“No, Bull!” Dorian shouts. “I cannot fuck myself!”

Bull chuckles. “Mmmm… you’re such a naughty boy, Lord Archon… trying to run your country yourself… trying to fuck yourself…” Bull feels his release approaching and he pulls Dorian’s head back by his hair and looks him in the eye. “I can take care of the fucking,” he tells him. 

“Please,” Dorian begs. “I want you,” he admits, then looks absolutely mortified by his own vulnerability.

Bull laughs at his expression and his nails rake down Dorian’s neck and chest as he comes deep inside the Archon.

Dorian looked down at the floor once Bull released his jaw and hair and he shivers and pants as he recovers from the exertion.

“Have fun?” Bull asks as he pulls out and stands up to step back into the cold tub.

Dorian stretches out on the floor and groans. “Yes,” he says. “Next time you lecture me, can it be before or after sex?” he asks.

“No,” Bull tells him. “This was an important lesson for you to learn.”

Dorian huffs and then rolls over to get up. “Is every fuck going to include a parable?” he asks as he touches the tub and the water suddenly steams. Bull hisses and grips his hands into fists in order to push through the discomfort. Dorian dips his hand in and hums. “Sorry, a bit too warm,” he says lightly before hiking his leg up to step in.

He moves to sit across from Bull, but the Tal Vashoth’s arms are long and he grabs him and drags Dorian to sit between his legs and lean back against his chest. “You’re a brat,” Bull tells him.

“No, I’m the bloody Archon,” Dorian says with a soft chuckle.

Bull hums and runs his wet hands across Dorian’s skin, wiping sweat and dust away. “It’s a job, not a burden,” he reminds him warmly. 

Dorian sighs and relaxes back agaisnt Bull. “Can you follow me around today and remind me of that?”

“Yes, my Lord Archon,” Bull says, attempting to sound formal, but he just sounds amused instead.

Dorian takes Bull’s hands and draws them to rest across his stomach. “We do still need to discuss peace with the Qunari,” he points out.

Bull rolls his eyes. “One job at a time, Lord Archon,” he tells Dorian.


End file.
